


Wash Away

by NewWonder



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Hallucinations, M/M, Memories, Multi, PWP, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - M/M/F, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewWonder/pseuds/NewWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nowhere to hide from him, no way to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wash Away

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the sake of porn, with a bit of angst thrown in for good measure. Please note that some situations depicted here have a dub-con-ish vibe. If that doesn't sit well with you, please don't read. What can I say, Silva's a sick fuck.

She thinks she can see him in the mist. She closes her eyes.

Jets of water hit her face, her breasts, stream down her belly in rivulets, caressing her skin more tenderly than any man in a long, long time. Not since he...

She cuts this thought short. _He_ seems to be a wizard to her now, a sorcerer, omniscient and almighty. She thought him a good wizard once, kind and gentle, with words like honey and hands like a mother's. Gentle, so gentle he was when he took her away from that place, when he promised her she'd be happy. She doesn't think him that anymore, but to her, he's still a god. Just not the good kind.

A man by the name of James Bond promised her she'd be free. She doesn't dare to believe, but it's so nice to feel wanted once in a while. This man is nice. He's dangerous--she must love dangerous if she loved _him_ \--he's strong, and he's kind. He won't save her but that doesn't mean she can't hope. It's so nice to dream a little bit, once in a while.

Her whole body felt as if it were wilting, like a flower, in he scorching desert of _his_ indifference. Sometimes she wondered if he'd ever wanted her at all.

The good man by the name of James Bond came to love her under the downfall of water, and just like that, she is blooming again. She feels safe and pure in his arms, and for once, her future frightens her not.

His hands caress her body, sliding down her breasts, her sides, her loins and her buttocks, confidently and yet reverently, and she throws her hands around James Bond's neck and laughs, and Raoul Silva grins at her from behind James Bond's shoulder.

She starts with a gasp, and yet again they are alone in the downpour.

"What happened?" the good man asks, and she shakes her head.

"It's nothing," she says. Raoul Silva soundlessly tuts at her, tracing the muscles of the good man's neck with his finger.

Then he dips his head and presses his lips against the glistening wet skin of Bond's shoulder, his dark eyes never leaving hers. They twinkle merrily--she's come to fear that twinkle even more than a loaded gun in his hand.

His hands creep across the good man's body, down his smooth chest and firm abs, brush where Bond's cock stands, fully hard already.

 _No!_ she wants to scream. _No, he's mine for now, don't touch him! You will have him later, you will--must you take everything from me?_

 _He_ smiles. He's naked, and his blond hair clings wetly to his huge scull. He's gigantic, towering over them, larger than life and twice as terrifying. He mouths at Bond's neck in the way that used to drive her mindless with lust, and she's going crazy, with fear and jealousy, and she clutches desperately at Bond's hands, hiding her face in his chest.

This is hardly the first time there was another between her and her man. She chose to forget what she used to do in the brothel and with whom, and all that, she'd remembered in a flash that was like a bomb going off in her chest when he had another man fuck her while he held her and watched.

He looked more excited than ever before, she thought. He never even touched himself, never unzipped his trousers, but he came seconds after the man who'd fucked her.

She never did.

She wondered why he had to do that to her. Wasn't she enough? Wasn't her body enough for him?

He fucked her once, slowly and thoroughly, touching her body like he invented it, all the secret places that made her shiver and sigh. He whispered to her a filthy poem about her beauty, an ode about the silky wetness of her pussy and the round firmness of her breasts, and his breath never hitched while another man was pushing inside him from behind.

She did nothing to a man that fucked her on _his_ orders. A man who fucked _him_ , she tracked down and killed, shooting his cock off and grinding her razor-sharp heel into his balls.

After _he_ fucked her with another man taking her from behind, she stopped wondering and started fearing.

There was one time she remembered, though, that felt almost nice; almost as if he loved her again. He had her lay her head on his knees, her hair flowing down his thighs like a black glimmering river, and told her to look into his eyes. Let your gaze never leave my face, he said, and it never did. She loved him then; there was nowhere else she'd rather look.

She very nearly jumped when she felt a soft touch between her legs, lips and a hint of tongue; but he watched her, smiling, and she got instantly wet. She never saw the face of the one who kissed and licked at her lower lips that night, and worried her flesh with deft fingers, and yet she knew, from the touch so tender, that it was a woman. But she never thought of her; looking into his eyes, feeling him card his fingers through her hair, she imagined those were his hands and his lips, and felt warm, ensconced, riding her waves of bliss that rose like the tide, slow and steady.

That was the last time she felt safe with him.

The good man frowns slightly. He needn't know this, she thinks, and Raoul Silva nods in agreement.

She waits, half fearful, half anticipating, for the ghostly touch--but it never comes, and she closes her eyes and lets the water wash away her terrors and her memories.

There is tomorrow for death. Today, she will love.


End file.
